


Save You From Yourself

by romanticalgirl



Series: Crowded Room [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual James "Bucky' Barnes/Steve Rogers, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Steve Rogers is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 07:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: The contining saga of the Winter Soldier and his complete asshole of a secretary. Who maybe isn't such an asshole. But he isn't at work, and Bucky doesn't quite understand that. If he's not at work, how is he going to torture Bucky? And Bucky wants him fired, right? So why does he care?





	Save You From Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own. In this fic. And in life.

It’s a Thursday, so Bucky’s confused when he wakes up to absolute silence and no coffee. He walks out into the main room, and Steve’s not sitting on the couch or at the table or, apparently, anywhere else in the apartment.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Do you know where Steve is?”

“Mr. Rogers has not been in the building as of yesterday at two.”

“Two?”

“Two-oh-three to be precise.”

“Does he normally leave at two on Wednesdays? I mean, when I’m not here.”

“Mr Rogers regular schedule is Monday through Friday from six-thirty until six, with weekend hours varying.”

“Did he say why he was leaving early yesterday?”

“He said nothing to me, Sergeant.”

“Huh.” Bucky frowns and goes into the kitchen to start the coffee pot. He walks through the rooms as it perks, looking for a note from Steve. He’s not sure why he thinks he might find something in the third guest bedroom bathroom, but he’s nothing if not thorough. He’s still looking – no note, no calendar, not a single goddamned scrap of paper – when he texts Tony.

_Was kidding about firing Rogers_

Well, he hadn’t been at first. But lately it's been more of a joke than anything.

_Why would I fire him?_

_I don’t know. Left early yesterday. Not here now._

_It’s 7am_

_So?_

_7\. AM. Real people aren’t awake at this hour._

_What are we?_

_Superheroes. Also I haven’t slept._

_Don’t you have trackers on your employees?_

_Apparently that’s against the law._

_Since when do you care?_

_Since Pepper yelled at me._

_Oh._

Getting yelled at by Pepper, hell, disappointing Pepper would totally stop Bucky from doing something too.

_Did you try calling him?_

_I don’t have his number_

_What does that mean?_

_Pretty sure that’s self-explanatory._

_He’s your secretary._

_He’s always here when he’s supposed to be. He’s always underfoot. I don’t need to call him. He’s just THERE._

_Ask FRIDAY and leave me alone._

“Ugh.” Bucky goes back to the kitchen and pours a cup of coffee, fixing it the way he likes, even though it doesn’t taste quite right. Doesn’t taste like it does when Steve makes it. He wonders if maybe Steve adds poison or something to enhance the flavor and get rid of Bucky slowly but surely at the same time. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Can you give me Steve’s phone number?”

“I took the liberty of calling while you were speaking with Mr. Stark. There was no answer.”

“What about an address? Do we have one of those?”

“I’ll send it to your phone.”

“Thanks.” Bucky drains the rest of his coffee and heads into his bedroom to get dressed. He looks over his wardrobe, his fingers lingering on his Tac pants. The odds that this is something dangerous are small, and he’s being completely ridiculous. He grabs a pair of black jeans and a blue Henley that he absolutely did not buy because the color is the same as Steve’s eyes. He didn’t even notice.

Though Natasha had pointed it out the first time she saw him wearing it.

He showers and dresses, tugging his hair back to get it out of his face. He grabs his phone and pulls up Steve’s address before heading down to the garage. Tony’s there, frowning at a 1967 Mustang convertible. He looks up at Bucky.

“Why are you here?”

“Go get some sleep, Tony.”

“Whatever. What do you think? Cobalt blue, black, or cherry red?”

“Do you ever end up picking anything that’s not red?” Bucky grabs his helmet then, after a second of hesitation, grabs another.

“Fair point. Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find my missing secretary.”

“Maybe he just got sick of you.”

“He’s too stubborn. Hell, he probably actually hates me and he still works for me. Just out of pure spite. I think he’s made of spite.”

Tony nods. “Probably true. You want company?”

“He’s probably just sick.”

“He can’t be sick. He has health insurance.”

Bucky blinks at him, rubs his eyes, and sighs. “You know that doesn’t mean you can’t get sick, right?”

“It should. FRIDAY, remind me to look into that.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Okay. Well, you and the tiny one have fun. Don’t get the measles or whatever.”

“I have a serum that prevents me from… Nevermind.” Bucky shakes his head and gets on the bike. He follows FRIDAY’s directions, driving around the block Steve’s building is located on several times. “You’re _sure_ this is it?”

“Quite sure.”

“This is… What’s the step above hovel? Isn’t Tony paying him?” Bucky parks the bike in front of what FRIDAY assures him is Steve’s building. He jogs up the stoop and opens the main door. It screeches loud enough to wake the dead and sets Bucky’s teeth on edge. If there’s a sudden resulting zombie uprising, Bucky’s coming straight for Steve’s landlord.

He has to climb six flights of stairs to reach Steve’s apartment. He knocks and listens at the door. When he doesn’t get an answer, he knocks again, this time with his metal hand. The door actually gives under his fist, his hand going through the hollow core and what passess as a lock snaps and the door swings open.

For all that the building is a piece of shit, Steve’s apartment is neat and clean. The furniture is worn but well taken care of and the place is decorated with bookshelves, art, and pictures.

“Rogers?”

There’s no answer, so Bucky walks around. It doesn’t take much time – just a couple of strides to the opposite side of the room to open the doors to the bedroom and bathroom, both of which are empty. Bucky growls under his breath and storms out of the apartment, wedging the door into the frame.

A guy in a bathrobe, boxers, and frog slippers comes out of the apartment across from Steve’s, the strong scent of pot trailing after him. “Dude. Rogers. You got all big.” He waves his hands in front of him. “And kinda hot. Shit. Did I forget I took something?”

“Where’s Steve?”

“You’re Steve. You just came out of the apartment.”

“Where. Is. Steve.” Bucky tries to keep his voice even, but even he can hear the dangerous undercurrent to it.

“Okay. Issues. Got it. Well, if you’re not Steve, then I haven’t seen him. Guess he works a lot now. Or maybe he’s got a dude or something. For a scrawny, pissy, little asshole, he sure gets a lot of dick.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and forces himself to unclench his fist when he realizes that the metal is whining. “He’s seeing someone?”

“Are you looking for Steve?”

Bucky turns quickly, assessing the girl standing in the doorway next to Steve’s before he’s completely facing her. “You know where he is?”

“He didn’t come home last night. I always hear him when he does, and I didn’t.”

“Do either of you have _any_ idea where he could be?” Bucky’s getting worried and frustrated, and he’s doing his best to keep it under control, but it’s getting harder and harder. There’s actually a reason he doesn’t deal with the public, and this is a strong reminder of it.

“Knowing him?” The girl says. “Alley or a hospital.”

That catches Bucky by surprise. “Excuse me?”

The guy nods. “Yeah. Unless he’s got a dude. Though that could still be an alley.”

Bucky ignores him. “What do you mean?”

“He gets into a lot of fights. Always standing up for people, refusing to back down. He’s like a Chihuahua. Thinks he’s as big as the Doberman he’s barking at.”

Bucky can see that. “Who does he get in fights with?”

“Drunks. Entitled guys. Shit-talkers. Assholes.”

Bucky lets out a slow breath, like the whistle of a tea kettle. It does nothing to relieve any of the pressure building in his chest. “Can either of you actually tell me anything _helpful_?”

“Oh, dude. Wait!” The guy smacks himself in the forehead. “Are _you_ his piece of ass? Shit. Don’t tell him I said anything about him sleeping with the lot of dudes. I don’t need him coming after me.”

“I’m not his… I’m his boss.”

“Oh. That makes way more sense.”

“What?” He doesn’t know why that makes him angry, but for some reason it does. “What does that mean?”

“Him working for some biker dude is way more believable than the whole Tony Stark thing.”

He can feel his temper slipping out of his control. “What Stark thing?”

“Dude. You need to chill.” The girl crosses her arms, her thumb on her phone like she fully intends to call the police on him if necessary.

“Maybe he went back to his old job.” The guy gives her a look and nods. “You seem way too high maintenance, totally not the type he’d put up with..”

“His old job was run by a group of evil Nazi scientists.”

“And they had a shitty health plan.” Steve comes up the last couple of stairs. “And evil and Nazi are redundant.”

Bucky turns the full force of his glare on him, his irritation clear in his voice. “What the fuck, Rogers?” He stops and looks Steve up and down. There’s a bleeding gash at his temple, his eyes are black and bruised around what’s likely to be a broken nose, he’s got smeared blood under his lip, and when he starts walking toward his door, he’s limping. “What the _fuck_?”

The girl shrugs. “Told you. Alley or hospital.”

“Neither, Claire.” Steve shakes his head. “Well, at least not all night.”

Bucky ignores their conversation and grabs Steve’s shoulder. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Steve stops in front of his door when he sees the state of it. He glances back over his shoulder at Bucky, not quite managing to hide his wince when he turns his head. “What did my door ever do to you?”

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Those two things don’t go together.” Steve jiggles the handle, and nothing actually moves. “And why are you _here_?”

Bucky drops his hand and shrugs, suddenly feeling helpless. And stupid. “You’re late for work.”

Steve takes a deep breath and exhales, rubbing his forehead with his hand. When he pull it away, there’s blood smeared on his fingers. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“You need to come to the tower.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not talking about you. I had to make my own coffee, and I made it how I take it, and it wasn’t right. Someone asked me what my schedule was for today. I didn’t have a schedule before you!”

“I thought you didn’t need a secretary.”

“I didn’t until I _got_ one and he _changed_ everything. So you need to put on some clean clothes. You’ve got blood all over you.”

“Only some of it is mine. And _how_? I can’t get into my apartment because someone has rendered my door completely useless.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, grabs the door handle, and shoves. The knob comes off completely in his hand, and the door crashes to the floor and splinters apart. Steve cocks an eyebrow at him, and Bucky jerks his phone out of his pocket with one hand and points at Steve with the other. “You. Get changed. Wear something warm.”

“Am I allowed to shower, boss?”

“Yes,” Bucky hisses through gritted teeth. He follows Steve into his tiny apartment then turns around and glares at the two standing in the hallway. “Go away.”

He’s not sure what’s in his voice, but they scramble like bugs after the light snaps on. He calls Tony. “Stark.”

“Barnes. Always a pleasure. Did you find your wayward little lamb?”

“Lamb is not the word. Would you look into the building Steve lives at. See if it’s for sale. And if it is, can one of us buy it? It’s a shithole.”

“He could move into the tower. You have a spare half of the floor you’re not using.”

Bucky thinks about it for a minute, thinks about what Steve’s neighbor said about Steve getting a lot of ass, and the servos in his arm make a dangerous noise that he absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent refuses to acknowledge.. “No.”

“So one of us is buying a building?”

“Yes. And a door.”

“A… door.”

“Okay, look. Can I talk to FRIDAY?” Bucky exhales roughly. “Or someone who won’t ask me questions and will just do what I ask them to do?”

“Let me make some inquiries. I promise nothing. I only promise when it comes to science.” Tony hangs up and Bucky shoves his phone in his pocket, pacing the length of Steve’s living room, which is basically two steps in either direction. He hears the bathroom door open and, without thinking, glances toward the bedroom.

Steve’s standing at his dresser, back to Bucky. He can see the bruises blossomed on his skin, blood pooled in purples and blacks. He should look away and not stare, not catalog how Steve’s ass looks in his boxer briefs, at the sharp lines delineating his ribcage. At the way his shoulder blades protrude and the knobs on his shoulders and spine stand out.

He shouldn’t watch the way Steve’s fingers card through his damp hair, doing nothing to stop it from falling over his forehead as soon as he lets go. Bucky forces himself to turn away, walking to the window and glaring at the brick wall across the alley. Eventually Steve clears his throat and Bucky turns around. He’s dressed in jeans and a dress shirt, the top button open. 

“You’re going to freeze in that.”

“I have a jacket. Believe it or not, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“Then why are you living here? I know Tony pays you enough to afford better than this shithole.”

“I happen to like my shithole.” Bucky smirks and Steve glares daggers at him. Bucky shrugs, which makes Steve puff up like a pissed off peacock. “Though I prefer it when there’s a _door_.”

“I’m buying you a new door.”

“Well, I hope you don’t intend on going anywhere until it shows up, because I'm not leaving until it does. Even though it’s not anything like your thousand dollar couches, it’s still my stuff, and I’d like it to stay that way. Not to mention, I don’t need squatters for roommates.”

“You know…” Bucky growls and shakes his head. “I’m going to get coffee. Do you want some?”

“You mean you’re not making me go?” Steve smirks at him. “Wow, Mr. Barnes. Are you sure you’re up for the task? I mean, it’s not saving the world.”

“The cut on your forehead is bleeding.” Bucky strides out of the apartment, refusing to look back at Steve’s snort. He finds a coffee shop not too far away that looks like rustic chic, and every single one of the people in it look like hipsters older than he is. He glares at a few of them, even though he knows they’re probably in this part of town because it’s within their budget, not just for aesthetics.

He feels out of place and annoyed, and he wants to know why the fuck Steve is beaten up and bleeding. He also realizes he has no idea how Steve takes his coffee. He grumbles to himself about smart-ass, annoying, fucking _bleeding_ assistants until he’s at the head of the line. He orders his own coffee and then glares at the menu. “What would a short skinny asshole drink?”

“Um.” The barista’s eyes widen even further than they had when he stepped up to the counter. “A...um. White chocolate mocha?”

“Fine. One of those. Medium sized. Whatever that is.” He gestures with his metal hand and a few people gasp, and suddenly no one’s pretending to be too cool to realize there’s someone famous in their midst. The barista looks like she’s going to pass out. “How much?”

She makes a noise, some sort of peep, and she continues staring at him as she fumbles with the register. Bucky heaves a huge sigh, pulls out his wallet, and hands her a fifty. “Whatever. Just keep the change.” 

“I…” She nods and keeps staring at him as he goes to the opposite end of the counter. 

He stands there, arms crossed over his chest and probably glaring. He knows he does that a lot. Natasha calls it his resting bitch face. He just calls it his face. The guy at the front of the line is staring at him too, and only the guy working the machine is doing something other than looking at Bucky.

“What?” Bucky growls.

The guy in line looks back at the barista, who makes the peeping sound again and turns back to the line. There’s still complete silence except for the sounds of the espresso machine. Finally the guy comes over and sets the cups down on the counter. He looks at Bucky and nods his head.

“You want a carrier?”

“Yes.” 

“Here you go.” He sets the cardboard holder on the counter and settles Bucky’s cups into it. “Sleeves and stoppers on the counter over there.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He goes back to the machine and Bucky goes to the counter, plugging the holes on the coffee lids and heading for the door. 

He’s about to leave when he looks back at the people, all of them, save the guy at the machine, still staring at him. “You guys are a disgrace to the hipster name. This is how you act when you see someone famous? Learn from that guy.” 

The bell above the door jingles as he leaves. When he gets back to Steve’s apartment, Steve’s sitting on his couch, legs folded up underneath him and his tablet in hand. He’s got a band-aid on the cut on his forehead, and Bucky’s pretty sure it’s an Avengers one.

“What the fuck?”

“Team loyalty,” Steve says without looking up. “Don’t worry. I threw out all the Winter Soldier ones. Figured you didn’t need the ego boost. Besides, I like Black Widow and Falcon better.” 

Bucky sets the carrier on the table, grabs his coffee, and goes to sit in the chair opposite Steve’s little couch. He lands on the cushion and keeps sinking, so he has to grab the arm with his metal hand to pull himself out. 

Steve doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Careful. That doesn’t have any springs.”

“You know, I hate Hydra more than anything, but buddy, you’re running a close second.”

“I beat out Doombots? Nice.” Steve finally looks up and grins at him. “I didn’t even have to try to take over a city or brainwash anyone. Though I be but little, I am fierce.”

“That’s about a woman.”

“It’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. You can’t assume anything is what it appears to be.” Steve grins sharply at Bucky then goes back to whatever he’s doing, humming under his breath.

“And I wasn’t paying you a compliment. Being compared to Hydra and Dr. Doom is not a compliment.”

Steve ignores him and makes some notation on the tablet. “You know you have a dinner tonight at seven?”

“No. No, I didn’t. Because my _secretary_ didn’t show up to work today. Apparently because he was busy at Fight Club.”

“The cultural references are flying fast and furious.” Steve grins. “Did you think to ask FRIDAY to show you your calendar?”

“No. Because I have a _secretary_.”

“Whom you think you don’t need. Anyway,” Steve waves his hand to cut off whatever Bucky might have to say. “It’s black tie. You’re attending with Diana Prince. She’s the museum curator and head of the benefit committee you’re going to be there to support. And don’t think of backing out, because part of the reason you’re going is because MoMA got damaged in the battle with the flying octopi.”

“Why do we always get blamed for damage when we’re the one saving everyone’s ass from flying fucking octopi?”

“Someone has to be blamed. And this way rich people can claim they helped rebuild the city, tout their generosity. Better than Stark having to pay for everything like normal.”

“Stark can afford it.”

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean he should have to.” Steve sets his tablet on the cushion next to him. “You should go get ready. Wear the Armani that’s hanging on the left side of your closet. Silver tie just so you can be contrary. Should all be hanging together. Took care of it before I left yesterday.”

“Speaking of which.” Bucky leans forward, pinning Steve with his gaze. “You left early and didn’t tell anyone where you were going.”

“You were out on a mission and had no events scheduled. There was no reason for me to stay.”

“There’s never a reason for you to stay, but you do all the time. Except yesterday. And you came home beat up. So who do I need to kill?”

“One, you’re not supposed to kill people. Two, it’s none of your business. Three, I don’t owe you any explanation. And four, I don’t need you or anyone to fight my battles for me. I gave as good as I got and I walked away from it.”

Bucky just raises his eyebrows. Steve doesn’t look away from him, just crosses his arms over his chest. Bucky sees the small flinch and shakes his head. “FRIDAY tried to call you. You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I couldn’t.” Steve’s face turns red under the bruising. “I don’t… currently have one.”

Bucky inhales through his nose and blows the breath out slowly. “What happened to your phone?”

“It sort of met with an accident.”

“Let me guess, at the exact same time you did?”

“I didn’t meet with an accident.”

“Right. Because this was intentional.” Bucky waves his hand to indicate Steve’s bruises, then leans in closer. “Talk.”

“Fine.” Steve straightens up, putting his feet on the floor. He’s fearless, and Bucky can’t help but be impressed. And happy. Because he likes that Steve’s not afraid of him. “I was walking home last night, and some guys were harassing this girl, and I grabbed one of them by the shoulder and jerked him away from her and told them to leave her alone.”

Bucky drops his head and presses this thumb and pointer finger against his eyes. “Why?”

“Because they were scaring her. She was drunk, and they were going to hurt her or rape her, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“You could’ve, I don’t know, call the cops?”

“You know how long it takes for cops to respond around here? Long enough that it would have been too late. So I did what I had to do.”

“You could’ve…”

“I did what I had to do.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t going to let them hurt her.”

“They hurt you instead!”

Steve shrugs and he doesn’t wince, but pain tightens the skin around his eyes. “I know you’re not suggesting that I should have just walked away and let them hurt her. I had to do it. And I can get over being beat up a hell of a lot easier than she could have gotten over being raped.”

Bucky nods slowly then looks at Steve with narrowed eyes. “So, if this happened last night, then why didn’t you get home until ten-thirty this morning? And why were you still covered in blood?”

Steve sighs and runs his fingers through the bangs feathered across his forehead. “I was sort of hoping you’d forgot about that.”

“Yeah. No.”

“Well. I’m not completely sure, but I think I passed out in the alley.”

Bucky raises one eyebrow sharply, nearly as sharp as his tone. “You think.”

“Well, I woke up in an alley and don’t remember falling asleep there. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually _win_ the fight. So I’m not one-hundred percent, but I think I can go with a solid ninety-five.”

“You are a complete menace.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond when there’s a knock on the door jamb. Steve looks up and Bucky whips his head around like he fully expects the guys that attacked Steve to be there. Steve clears his throat. “Yes?”

“You Rogers?”

“Yes.”

“Stark sent us. We have a door? We’re supposed to install it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks. Go ahead.”

Bucky wants to scream at Steve. Wants to wrap him in bubble wrap. Wants to chain him to the portion of the couch and coffee table he’s claimed as his office in Bucky’s place. Instead he gets up. “Take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, first thing, you go up to medical and make sure you’re okay.” He points at Steve and glowers. “No argument or I’ll drag your ass there now.”

Steve snaps his mouth shut and glares at Bucky mutinously. “Fine. _Mister Barnes_.”

“Good.” He nods and heads for the door, looking at the guys Tony sent. “Can you make it so he can’t get out unless someone lets him out?”

“Um.” The guy is like a deer in headlights. “We could?”

Bucky looks back at Steve. “Might be something you want to keep in mind, Rogers.”


End file.
